


Oblivion

by AnneCumberbatch



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alcoholic Harry, Alcoholic Sherlock, Alcoholism, Angst, Caring John, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt Sherlock, Tired John
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-28
Updated: 2017-07-28
Packaged: 2018-12-08 00:16:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11634945
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneCumberbatch/pseuds/AnneCumberbatch
Summary: After Sherlock returned from his 3 year journey, he and John moved back into Baker Street. A little worse for wear, the two of them struggled to settle into a "normal" lifestyle again. However, one night, Sherlock comes home drunk. At first, John thought it was just a one-time thing, because Sherlock would never release control of himself like that. However, sometimes tortures of the mind are inescapable except through oblivion.





	Oblivion

The loud thud downstairs brought John to his feet, his book dropped beside his chair, momentarily forgotten. A few steps brought him to the doorway of the living room. He looked down the stairway. ".. Sherlock?"   
A low murmur from downstairs accompanied by another thud, softer than the first, led John down the stairs. "Mrs. Hudson? Is that you?" 

Sherlock was sitting, slumped, against the bottom of the stairs. Upon hearing John's footsteps above him, he covered his face with a hand, rubbing his long fingertips against his temple. His chest rose and sank with noticeable breaths. John hurried the last few steps towards him. "Sherlock? What's wrong; are you hurt?" 

Sherlock batted away the probing hands which reached out for him and mumbled something incoherent and barely audible. There was a thin sheen of sweat covering his face and his cheeks were ruddy. John sat on the step above him in surprise. "... You're drunk. Is this a joke? Please tell me this is a joke. Or one of your stupid plans for something. Sherlock? Sherlock, talk to me." 

John pushed his flatmate's shoulder, annoyed at his lack of response. "Sherlock, I mean it. Talk to me. What the hell are you doing?" 

Sherlock swatted at him with limp hands. "...Shovoff...leave me 'lone..." 

"No, Sherlock.. Alright, come on. Let's get you upstairs." John stood and grabbed a hold of one of Sherlock's arms and lifted him up. 

With a groan, Sherlock allowed himself to be lifted, his long legs clumsily struggling to stand under him. Sherlock's hands grabbed onto John's forearms to hold himself steady and to try to hold himself up. John wrapped an arm around Sherlock's waist and started up the stairs, hefting his flatmate up beside him. "Come on now..Let's go.. easy does it. One foot... now the other, good man, yes. Let's get you upstairs.. get some water into you.." 

Sherlock's head fell towards John's shoulder. "...Mm.... Icandoit... Leaveoff...leggo offfme..." His lips moved thickly, his deep baritone rumbling with the effort of speaking. However, despite his protests, his body leaned heavily on John's and he made no movement to try and resist, for which John was grateful. 

One foot after the other slid up to the next step. Finally, John deposited him on the sofa, untangling his arms from around Sherlock and laying him down gently. Sherlock's eyes closed shut as his body hit the leather. He didn't move from where John had put him, but stayed still, mostly on the sofa with one leg and an arm hanging off of the side, his foot dragging against the ground. John went into the kitchen and filled a glass with water from the tap. Upon returning, he propped Sherlock's head up slightly with a pillow and urged him to drink, holding the cool glass against Sherlock's lips. "Come on.. just a sip now.. it'll make you feel better.." 

Sherlock's lips parted and a little of the water in the glass spilled in, and although a majority of the water then escaped down the side of his mouth, some managed to roll down his throat. A quiet groan followed the swallow and Sherlock moved his arm up to push John away. His body shifted upon the leather, uncomfortable in his own skin. He shifted to try to find a comfortable position. John set the glass down and moved to remove Sherlock's shoes. "Alright. Fine, no water for now. Let's get theses off of you and into bed, okay?" 

Sherlock lay still as he felt John removing his shoes. His eyes opened to observe his flatmate for a moment. "John..."

John looked up at him, slightly surprised at the coherency. "Yes?"

Sherlock just looked at him for a moment, trying to stop the spinning of the room and the numbness of his face from distracting him from John's face. John, the picture of concern and care. John, the poster child for caring for a returning alcoholic. John, the person Sherlock had so misused for so long.  "John.... M'sorry for..." He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. 

John set Sherlock's shoes on the ground and moved upwards, siting next to him. "Yes?" 

Sherlock pushed his eyes open, looking at John again. "....m'sorry for... ....for leavingyuou... forlying... forthis..." He closed his eyes again, the effort of speaking and keeping his eyes open was too much. 

John sighed softly and brushed Sherlock's shoulder with his hand. "It's fine, Sherlock. Just... get some sleep. We can talk about this in the morning."

John stood and tilted Sherlock's body so he was lying on his side and then draped the afghan covering the back of the sofa over his thin friend's form. Lastly, he grabbed one of their bins and set it next to the sofa in case Sherlock got sick during the night. Before he went upstairs to his room, he looked one more time at Sherlock, who was already asleep. His stomach clenched as he smelt the slight stench of alcohol mixed with sweat and menthol coming from Sherlock's clothing. Shaking his head, he went upstairs and closed the door to his room. 

 

 


End file.
